


Sleeping Prince

by Soaring_Ren (Robin_Knight)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Dubious Consent, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, M/M, Mpreg, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 03:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10711428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Knight/pseuds/Soaring_Ren
Summary: Lance was the prince of his people.The arranged marriage would unite two empires.Keith was the perfect spouse, but he wasn't the perfect man for Lance.





	Sleeping Prince

# Sleeping Prince

“Is Lance okay?”

Shiro stood to the side. He leaned against the wall; the hall before him was beautiful, so unlike the dark colour schemes and enclosed architecture of his Galra home, and it almost left one with a strange sense of fear, as the space appeared to go on forever. The lights were bright, so much so that they hurt his yellow eyes and forced him to look down. Altean buildings were often unforgiving for the Galra race. Shiro was exhausted.

The heat was most oppressive; it left no leeway for the Galra fur, something made worse by Shiro’s choice to wear skin-tight and black attire, and – as he pushed a lock of white hair away from his eyes – he looked to his brother-in-law with a raised eyebrow. He folded his arms across his chest. There was too great a crowd to be able to hear Lance from such a distance, even with the hearing of his people, and the hustle-and-bustle hurt his ears and disorientated him. It was a fine wedding reception, but not quite to his tastes.

“Oh, my brother is most pleased,” chirped Allura.

The young princess came to his side. Shiro said nothing, as she worked her hand through the crook of his arm and clasped her hands around the limb. It was impossible to hold back a smile; he tried to stifle the movement of his lips, but he enjoyed too much the way she leaned against his shoulder and let her eyes close in comfort. There was a waft of perfume from her hair, a thick scent that caused him to draw in a deep breath, and he instinctively angled his head in her direction. Those long and silver locks hung low and loose over her shoulders.

There was a warm smile upon her lips, which crinkled the corner of her eyes. The dark brown hue of her skin was darkened almost black in the light, something that Shiro always appreciated, and he enjoyed the variations in colour that were unique to her. He brought his cybernetic hand to her cheek, where he rubbed lightly at the facial patterns, and felt his eyes well with emotion when she looked up with blue eyes half-lidded and softened.

“It was an arranged marriage,” observed Shiro.

“So was ours.” Allura grinned and prodded him in his side. “I do remember being rather nervous upon being told, but then followed the courtship and things felt . . . natural. Do you not remember our first kiss? You stuttered so much afterward! It was adorable.”

“I’m – I’m Galra, Princess! We don’t _do_ ‘adorable’.”

“Well, that’s just adorable in itself.”

Shiro dropped his head forward. He could feel warmth rise to his cheeks that would thankfully be hidden by fur, but he couldn’t avoid the way his heart skipped a beat on hearing her chuckle and leaned closer against him. There was a general hum about their area, as people gossiped and laughed on seeing their royal princess so intimate with her husband, and it only added to his embarrassment. Shiro chanced a glance back across the hall.

The young prince was easy to spot. He was dressed in beautiful Altean attire, in a blue colour scheme that complemented his sister’s style to absolute perfection, and his brown hair also complemented his brown skin. It was almost too faultless. Everything about Lance was co-ordinated to the finest detail; Shiro remembered bumping into him in the private corridors at night, where he would see a pouting face painted in creams, and he smiled to himself to realise how much pride the young man took in his appearance.

It was what made his solemnity so strange.

Lance sat in the seat of honour at the head table. He kept his head low, where brown eyes stared at his barely touched plate of food, and his long fingers traced strange patterns along the fabric of his blue robes. Those long and Altean ears twitched, as he pouted and occasionally huffed in seeming irritation. He made no time for anyone. Hunk sat silently beside him, occasionally picking off stray bites from Lance’s plate, while Pidge would come over every so often to check in on him. He acknowledged neither of them.

“Is he sick?” Shiro asked.

“Hmm? Oh, just wedding jitters,” said Allura. “It happens to us all.”

It was common knowledge that Keith and Lance did not get along. Keith – much to Shiro’s displeasure – currently sat alone in the corner of the hall, where he would occasionally get up to walk onto the balcony and take deep breaths of air. He would refuse to speak to any of the guests, even threatening to turn his blade upon one woman who tried to insist upon small talk, and already Alfor was forced to have words with him. Anxiety would explain everything that was wrong. It also did not quite explain all that it should.

“Are nervous stomachs commonplace?” Shiro asked.

“No, I believe not. Why do you ask?”

“Your advisor was ill, too.”

Allura hummed and pulled away from him. It was a gentle movement, as she raised her gloved hand to her lips and cast her eyes about the room with a curious gaze. The crowd was thick and entangled, almost impossible to discern one figure from another, and – much as he was loath to ever admit it aloud – most Alteans looked the same to him at a glance. Coran was often easily distinguishable by his red hair, but there was no sight of him in the crowds of people. He missed the ceremony, too. It was most suspicious.

“Perhaps it is contagious, after all,” observed Allura.

Shiro bit his lip to keep from speaking out of turn. He looked back to Lance, who ran a hand over his stomach and looked oddly nauseous, and – as the prince pushed his plate away – he stood with a slight shake to his step and walked away from the main table. The crowds parted for him, as if afraid to catch whatever virus could upset even a prince. Shiro watched him for every single step. He watched him until he was finally gone. Shiro muttered:

“Yeah, maybe.”

* * *

_‘I’m not marrying that jerk!’_

Coran forced a smile, as he held Lance against him. The warm body of the prince was clad only in a light blue robe, one designed for sleep and lounging in private quarters, and there was a light facemask across his complexion. It was a mask that was designed to dry and harden, so that it could be peeled off the following morning and not stain the sheets, and it gave Lance a strange ghostly glow. Lance closed his eyes, as his head rested upon Coran’s shoulder. Coran clasped his hands upon his lover’s lap.

_‘I’m afraid you have no choice,’ whispered Coran._

The bed was beyond comfortable. The pillows piled up behind Coran helped ease the ache in his back, while the heavy blankets and quilts lay heavy across their legs, and Coran – naked save for a red pair of underwear, bought for him by his prince – cherished the warmth and intimacy of their positions. Lance lay between his spread legs, with a somewhat sleepy expression upon his features, while the dark room cast them in a light shadow.

_They sat together in an awkward silence; the only sounds were those of the guards outside, whose armoured uniforms clattered with any movement, and the rustle of leaves from the tress outside the open doors of the balcony. Coran felt the breeze blow over the thick hairs on his arms, and he smiled at the sensation and let his moustache bristle against the crook of Lance’s neck, where he placed tender kisses at sporadic intervals. Lance murmured in response, as he arched his back and licked at his lips in all too a seductive manner._

_Coran smiled and stroked Lance’s hair. The younger man gave a half-smile, as he sleepily nuzzled into the touch, while he let his hands fall upon Coran’s free hand still upon his lap, and – as they enjoyed the moment of quiet – Lance blinked open his eyes with a yawn. He tilted his head to get a good view of Coran, looking at him with an intensity that was as if he were seeing him for the first time all over again, and asked in a quiet voice:_

_‘Why can’t I marry you?’_

_‘I’m a bit old for you, lad,’ chirped Coran with a forced smile. ‘Your father wants more from you in life. You don’t want to be stuck with an old ball-and-chain like me, eh? I’m just the royal advisor, too. I can’t give you the kind of life that a prince could. Besides, Keith isn’t too bad in the right kind of light . . . I know you prefer women to men, but –’_

‘Damn right that I prefer women! Who’d want a guy like Keith anyway? He thinks he’s so great and he’s always sulking and he thinks he’s better than me. Like, I know he’s Shiro’s brother and all, but Shiro’s my hero, you know? I just don’t like him.’

_‘Well, life is different for royalty.’ Coran looked sadly across the room. ‘I was always so honoured to be a part of your life, especially that you would trust me with a side of you that no one else has seen, and – well – I guess I know what it’s like, eh? I’m just like you. I can’t be with the person I love either, only I have to watch him marry another bloke. I – I’m not sure I can be that strong, Lance. I can’t watch you marry someone else.’_

_Lance tensed within Coran’s hold. Coran blinked away his tears; he felt his cheeks flush, while his heart raced within his chest, and – for a second – he gripped a little too harshly in his lover’s hair and was forced to gasp an apology. The room was filled with reminders of Lance’s personality, from large posters of his favourite celebrities to framed photographs of Shiro taken on various missions, and luxurious clothes lay piled high next to trinkets collected by Pidge over the course of her career as a royal engineer._

_These nights between them were limited, so that one day Coran knew he would not return. The idea of Keith lying between those sheets was painful, especially when he pictured the sweat and semen borne from exertion, and – despite his maturity and understanding of the situation – it brought about a jealous rage unlike any other. Coran continued to stroke at his lover’s hair until Lance let out a staggered breath and finally broke the silence._

_‘What happens if I say no, Coran?’_

_Coran looked to the desk opposite the bed. He saw the photographs of himself with Lance and Allura, taken as their godfather as children, and he knew – without a doubt – no one would believe them should they tell them the relationship was consensual. No one would believe a friendship borne between two adults could grow, that Lance chased after Coran once he became confident in his sexuality, or even that Coran had been the one to refuse until one night when everything seemed to come together. He owed Lance to be honest._

_‘War,’ he said, ‘at the very worst.’_

_‘So I’m supposed to put my people first?’ Lance asked. ‘I – I can do that, but when do they ever put_ me _first? When do_ I _ever get to be happy? I don’t think I can ever love Keith, but they expect me to spend a lifetime with him and – what – spread my legs for him? Don’t I get any say over my life? Don’t I get a right to veto this so-called alliance?’_

_‘You could have a celibate marriage? I’ve heard of some political partners living a sexless life, some even had a wee bit of fun on the side with their lovers. If you could get Keith to agree, we could still have what we have . . . we could still have our love.’_

_‘I asked Keith if I could take other lovers. He said no.’_

_‘A celibate marriage then?’_

_Lance scoffed. He pulled away from Coran with a flick of his wrist; it was a signal of confidence and authority, a raised hand that spoke of a need for silence, and Coran smiled sadly to think of how his lover never could shake that arrogance and domineering side. He accepted it, whereas his friends tolerated it, but he knew a Galra prince would never accept to being treated in such a manner. Coran moved to his side of the bed, where he sat quietly as the young prince lay upon his back and huddled underneath the blankets._

_‘I sure hope it’s celibate,’ muttered Lance._

_The prince pulled the sheets up to his chin; he paled considerably, while white teeth gnawed upon a plump lip, and Coran slid down to lie next to him. He lay on his side, while he propped his head up with a fisted hand. The prince was beyond beautiful. The younger man had no idea how perfect he was both in body and mind, but Coran – as he watched that chest expand and deflate with every breath – knew the truth. Lance mumbled:_

_‘Do you mind if I sleep?’_

_‘Of course not, lad,’ said Coran. ‘You have no idea how beautiful you are when you sleep. I remember when I was just a child, used to go for long walks with my grandfather, and he’d point out all the stars and all the planets . . . each time you sleep, I see that same beauty and same potential in your face. I see something eternal that I’ll always cherish.’_

_‘I like that. I like that only I get to see your serious side.’ Lance rolled onto his side and drew in a deep breath. ‘I’m a bit too tired to make love tonight. If you want, I don’t mind you taking pleasure while I sleep. I know it turns you on and I trust you.’_

_‘Like I say, you’re so beautiful when you dream.’_

_‘Hmm. I guess . . .’_

_Coran chuckled. Lance knew his quirks and kinks; he was willing to accept the somnophilia, just as he was willing to accept the bondage, and – in turn – Coran accepted Lance’s dominant streak and often need to ‘discipline’ his partner. They traded off on their preferences with a sense of compromise that sated both, only now both would have to forgo their satisfaction for a lifetime of celibacy. Coran felt a stab in his heart. The idea of Lance being with anyone else devastated him, and suddenly the arousal was gone._

* * *

“He’s cheating on me,” growled Keith.

Allura drew in a deep breath. The courtyard was quiet, so much so that her sharp inhale was likely audible to his Galra ears, and yet – as she strove to remain calm – she struggled to control her racing heartbeat and the way her teeth bit sharply into her lips. There was a cool breeze from the south, which tussled her hair and caused the plants to rustle with the movement of their leaves. Allura closed her book and placed it to one side.

The stone bench was set quite low, forcing her to look up at Keith. He paced back and forth in full Galra armour beneath the larger of the trees; they were set high and in full bloom, so that their many branches filled with flowers overshadowed him and cast him in darkness, and his dark fur only added to the intimidating aura. Keith was short for the Galra, but relatively tall for an Altean male. He wore his ‘hair’ into the style of a mullet, while his sharp features gave him a sense of youth and innocence, but the aggressiveness never faded.

Shiro stood afar by the entrance to the kitchens. He chatted amicably to one of the servants, never quite subscribing to ‘each to their own’, and what Keith lacked in sociability Shiro more than made up in his personable nature. Allura looked to him with a smile, as she relaxed on sight of her husband and best friend. Those blue eyes closed, before she looked to Keith and nodded in acknowledgement of him, and watched as he finally stood still.

“My brother is not one for infidelity.”

“How do you know that?” Keith asked. “Look, I’m not great with relationships, but I would have thought being forced to marry would be a . . . I don’t know . . . a – a bonding moment, you know? I’m not saying we have to be best friends or anything, but he sneaks out every night and I don’t see him again until the next morning. I just want to trust him.”

“Lance has always had a free spirit and competitive nature.” Allura smiled and touched her lip with a gloved finger. “You are renowned as being head of every class you take, as well as an excellent soldier, as such he is likely training every night to outdo you.”

“Yeah, but why can’t he train _with_ me? I wouldn’t mind.”

“Our little sharpshooter is too self-conscious.”

Allura looked over to the windows of the palace. Lance’s room sat a few windows away from her room, so close that – as children – she could always find her brother with a minimum of effort, and she missed those days where she could play with those brown locks and hide with him in their self-made fort. The balcony doors were wide open, so that the curtains from within blew out in a strange and billowing pattern, but there was no sign of her younger sibling. Allura knew would be watching from within. With a shake of her head, she said:

“He doesn’t wish for you to see him as ‘weak’.”

The silence that followed was awkward. Keith squatted down upon the backs of his feet, where he rested his elbows upon his knees and looked down at the ground, and – were it not for the fur upon his face – Allura could almost picture him with a blush. He pursed his lips and focussed upon the shadow on the grass, while his eyes half-narrowed into virtual slits. It was difficult to do anything except feel pity for him, as his slumped shoulders spoke of a far larger weight than anything Allura could imagine. Keith spoke again in a low voice.

“He won’t let me touch him.”

“Keith, he only knows you by reputation,” admitted Allura. “It took Shiro and I several months before we could be physically affectionate, and – even then – it was only recently when we could be fully intimate with one another. Lance is known as a flirt, but most of his flirtations are an act to hide his insecurities. He would be most alarmed should anyone _reciprocate_ , as he has come to expect his loves to be one-sided. Do not worry.”

“How can I not worry?” Keith clenched his fists hard. “He thinks I hate him, but I do respect him on some level. I caught the smell of sweat the other night, which – yeah – I guess could be from working out, but I see the way he looks to others and –”

“If you accuse him of a crime he has not committed, you will lose his trust forever. Lance will not forgive such a slight upon his character, for – in his eyes – his character is all he has to call his own. I have always been accused of being Father’s favourite, while no one with political power pays much attention to what he calls the ‘spare’. He will not forgive you.”

“I gave up everything for this marriage. I gave up my culture, my empire . . .”

“All of which Lance most appreciates, I am sure.”

There was a sound of laughter from afar, as one of the servants found amusement in something told by another, and – as they both looked across the garden – they saw Shiro double over with tears in his eyes and arms wrapped around his torso. Allura smiled on sight of him, as she raised her hand to hide her chuckle in response. It was difficult for her eyes not to light up on every glance to her husband, but Keith appeared to see her devotion and his head fell even lower. He heaved a heavy sigh and asked coldly:

“Is it wrong to want him to love me?”

“That is not wrong in the least,” assured Allura. “Just be aware that love takes time. I cannot promise that he will love you, but I can promise that you will have a lifetime together in which to earn each other’s trust and respect. You may find a friend in Lance. He will never betray you, for you are his husband and he has pledged himself to you.”

“Do you think it’d help if I asked him to train with me?” Keith looked to Allura with a curious expression. “He calls himself a sharpshooter, so maybe he’d enjoy showing off something he takes pride in. I could always learn a thing or two.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” chirped Allura.

* * *

_‘Pregnant? But that’s impossible!’_

_Coran looked over to his lover. Lance sat curled into a foetal ball, not far from Coran’s bed, and he appeared to be in great distress. Those slim shoulders shook with every sob, while his brown eyes were reddened with the force of his tears, and his hair sat mussed upon his head with a hand buried deep into brown locks. He wore an old shirt of Coran’s, while his royal clothes lay scattered about the bedroom in various places. Coran worried._

_‘We always used protection, lad,’ said Coran._

_The room was large for an average person, but small by royal standards. It was the room of an advisor and not a prince, stamped with personality that marked it as Coran’s and no one else’s, and every wall told a story of his past and present and dreams of his future. Lance sat underneath the windows, which overlooked the courtyard where Keith and Shiro trained in the midst of a sparring match. The Galra fought in a violent and aggressive style, it was awe-inspiring to watch and life threatening to participate. The grunts echoed up to them._

Lance let his legs stretch out, as he leaned back against the wall. He ran his hands over his face, smearing the tears against his dark skin, and his lips trembled in an almost imperceptible manner. There was a slight swell to his stomach, but it was no secret that the young prince held a sweet tooth that could match even the greediest of children. Coran assumed the weight gain was nothing more than a desire for chocolate.

_‘I think the condom broke,’ muttered Lance. ‘Remember my birthday?’_

_Coran blanched. He remembered Lance coming into his room that night, where he sobbed in a drunken manner that Coran could no longer come to his rooms, and how Keith was a selfish bed-partner that always stole the blankets. Coran comforted his lover. They held each other until morning, when it became officially Lance’s birthday, and the twenty-two year old decided to straddle Coran – still half-asleep and with morning wood – and rode him until both fainted from exertion and pleasure. The condom had indeed broken._

_‘I – ah – had thought we’d caught most of it,’ whispered Coran._

_‘Yeah, well, not enough.’ Lance wiped his nose with the back of his hand. ‘What are we going to do, Coran? If Keith finds out I’m carrying someone else’s child, he’ll annul the marriage and we risk losing one of our greatest allies in the known universe! My father will hate me. You’d be fired at best or executed at worst. I – I don’t know what to do!’_

_‘I admit that we can’t tell the truth. We could say you were – er – attacked? That way you wouldn’t have broken your vows and you wouldn’t be at fault. If Keith doesn’t want the child, maybe I can arrange to adopt the little fellow? It wouldn’t be ideal, but –’_

_‘It’s – It’s not ideal. It’s not ideal at all! I don’t want to give up my child, just because it’s a “bastard” and has to pay for my mistakes. I don’t want to abort, either. I thought about it, but I just don’t think I could live with myself . . . I just don’t see a way out of this. If I tell them I was attacked, won’t they look into it? Like, what if they check security cameras and interview the guards and they see we’ve spent most nights alone together?’_

_Coran felt his blood run cold. He carefully went over to the windows; Shiro looked up at the exact moment that his hands touched the glass, where the Galra man gave a brief salute and a smile, and Coran – seeing his friend so amicable – smiled and nodded in turn. He closed the windows and allowed a silence to befall them, as he sat beside Lance and draped an arm over his shoulders in a supportive gesture. Lance burst out into tears. He threw his arms around Coran’s waist, as he buried his head into the crook of his neck and wept._

_He held Lance close to him, as he reached up to stroke at those brown locks. The clock ticked on for some time, marking the minutes into what soon became a full hour, and – in all that time – they simply sat together in pained silence. Coran had always dreamt of a family, including a child to carry on his line, but this news came at the worst time and in the worst of circumstances. He flinched when Lance finally asked in a sore voice:_

_‘What do we do, Coran?’_

_Lance continued to sob against him. Coran smiled and reached into his pocket, before he withdrew an embroidered handkerchief – a gift from Lance from the festival the previous year – and brought it to his lover’s nose. Lance blew hard. It was difficult to be disgusted, even as he tucked the handkerchief back away, as he loved Lance more than anyone within his life to date, and it was impossible to be disgusted with a natural bodily emission borne from emotion. Coran sighed and placed a kiss to his head._

_‘I don’t know, lad. I don’t know.’_

_‘I want to raise them with you,’ said Lance in a low voice. ‘Only you! What am I supposed to say when they don’t even look half-Galra? Oh God, what if they have red hair? I – I haven’t even_ slept _with Keith yet. He’s going to be pretty suspicious over a virgin birth! I don’t want to get you in trouble, but I don’t want to give them away either . . . they’re my baby.’_

 _‘Lance, I – I might have an idea, but I don’t want you to hate me.’ Coran drew in a shuddered breath and breathed deep the rich scent of cologne. ‘It’s a_ teensy _bit unorthodox, and I hate myself enough for even suggesting it, but it’s – ah – well . . .’_

_‘You can say it. I need to hear it. What is it?’_

_Coran buried his nose into Lance’s hair. He tried to hide the tears in his eyes, as he strove to be strong for the man he pledged his life to protect. There was a draught from the nearby_ en suite _door, while a tap dripped in the distance in time to the ticking clock, and in his arms Lance wept and sniffed, hands curled together and playing with the hem of his shirt. Coran struggled to speak, each time his voice threatened to turn into a low cry or a choked sob, but soon he found his voice and found a courage that made him feel physically ill:_

_‘What if you slept with Keith? Pretended it was his child.’_

_Lance froze in his arms. The younger man clenched his hands into the fabric of his shirt, so tight that it pulled around Coran’s waist and caused a mild discomfort, and soon he pulled back his head to look upon his older lover. Those cheeks were flushed red, with a slight crease on one from where he leant upon Coran’s shoulder, and his hair was mussed to a degree that would shame him once he regained a sense of clarity. Lance sniffed._

_He soon climbed to his feet, where he stood before Coran. There was indeed a slight swell to his stomach, which meant the timing might not work, and – should Keith stand any chance at believing it to be true – Lance would need to make an almost immediate move. The prince staggered backward a few steps, with hand raised to cover his trembling lips. Coran stood with tears rolling down his cheeks. He reached out to Lance, but the younger man shook his head and stamped his foot in a petulant manner. Coran looked away as Lance asked:_

_‘You want me to sleep with another man?’_

_‘No. God, no!’ Coran tasted his tears on his lips. ‘The very idea makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t picture his hands on you or his mouth on yours, it’s just – it’s just too much to bear! I just know we both need to make a sacrifice here, if we want you to keep the baby and prevent any political fallout. If he thinks the baby is his heir, he won’t annul the marriage. He won’t want to give the baby away, either. You can keep the wee one.’_

_Lance looked about the room, as his eyes shimmered with tears. The shelves were lined with every gift from Lance, from the most luxurious to the mundane, and on a corkboard over the door were the remains of various hand-made cards and stubs of tickets. The room was a testament to their relationship should one realise the significance of the items, and Coran hated himself for his suggestion. Lance never have himself to anyone but Coran. There was a letter somewhere that read ‘to my first, my last, and my only’._

_‘Just – Just don’t let him kiss you?’ Coran begged._

_He walked over to his lover. He wrapped his arms around his body, now weeping in earnest as a callused hand spread over that slightly distended stomach, and he swore he could almost feel the growing life under that skin. Coran kissed along Lance’s jaw, until his lips met the soft ones of his prince, and – unable to hold back his love and devastation – place a semi-chaste kiss to those lips whose touch he had memorised in his dreams._

_‘Save just that one thing for us, eh?’_

_Lance wept in his arms._

_* * *_

Lance winced at the intrusion.

It was different to with Coran; there was less preparation, while apparently no one told Keith that Altean men didn’t self-lubricate, and even the size and shape was unlike an Altean member, instead something far too thick and covered in soft barbs. There was little pain, but an incredible sense of discomfort. Lance hated every second. The friction burned, instead of added to the sensations, and there was little else to distract him.

He chose to face down upon the sheets. He couldn’t look into the face of his husband. Keith grunted and growled, something primal and filled with pleasure, while he muttered how thrilled he was to spend his first time with a man he so admired. It was almost as if Lance were raping his husband, taking from him something given under false pretences, and he hated himself for his deceptions. He hated how he buried his head into the pillows, biting down until the taste of the fabric made him feel sick. Tears pricked at his eyes.

Those rough hands ran over his body, exploring for the first time, and yet it felt unnatural and like a violation of the worst sorts. Keith didn’t know what Lance liked. He would pull at Lance’s nipples instead of flicking them, or stroke at his back rather than lightly raking his nails down his skin, and – with every passing second – Lance could only think about Coran. He thought about their first time . . . the kisses, the moans, the moon over his shoulder . . .

“Why won’t you let me kiss you?” Keith gasped.

The words came warm and moist at Lance’s pointed ear; he turned away out of sheer instinct, hating how it felt to be so physically close to a man he couldn’t quite trust, and he worried in turn about the pressure on his stomach. They kept the lights off. Keith would at least never see him dishevelled and naked, at least if he dressed before sunup, but he would never be able to forget those hands on his hip or the bruises on his neck. He would be forced to feel hot come inside his body. He would remember Keith’s scream of ecstasy

* * *

_‘I – I – I can’t do this, Coran! I can’t!’_

Lance buried his head into his heads. It was painful to see, but worse to see him wrapped only in an old shirt borrowed from a hamper. He likely grabbed the first thing he found, even if the shirt was Keith’s, and he had run barefoot through the corridors until his feet bled having caught on some rough surface or other. Bruises lined his hips, mostly in the shape of a handprint, while love-bites lined his neck like possessive reminders of ownership.

_The hallway was empty, which was a small blessing. Lance reeked of sweat and sex, with a trail of come falling from his behind and down the inside of his thigh, and Coran – afraid someone would see them in such a state – grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him inside his bedroom with a harsh gesture. He slammed the doors shut behind them, before he locked the door and jammed a chair against it just to be safe. Lance was at once on his knees. He wept in earnest, with each sound breaking something inside Coran._

_He moved quietly to his lover and dropped beside him. The visible proof that Keith had been so rough infuriated him; even in their more dominant moments, neither man ever left marks upon the other, and he doubted that Keith even knew the marks he made. Coran hated himself. He hated he ever made the suggestion. He hated that another man had been inside his lover._ He hated _. They should have risked punishment rather than to endure._

‘I’m so sorry, my love,’ whispered Coran.

_Lance looked up with a broken smile. He rubbed at his nose with a stray sleeve, before he struggled to his feet and walked over to the bathroom. Coran followed, carefully removing his clothing as he walked behind his lover, and – when Lance’s eyes widened in horror – Coran simply raised his hands in surrender and pattered over to the bathtub. The reaction was instantaneous; Lance slumped his shoulders in relief, as he slowly removed his shirt, and he sat upon the edge of the porcelain tub while Coran ran the water._

_They often bathed together in the past; it was an intimate time without any sexual relations, where they would wash each other and share in private secrets, and sometimes there would even be laughter and water fights. The water filled the tub with a rush of familiar noise, which quietened Lance’s sobs and brought an awkward smile to his face. Coran turned away to dry his tears, until the water reached the brim and was soon stopped._

_‘I should never have let you go through with this.’_

_‘No, it was my choice,’ said Lance. ‘I just thought it’d be a one-off, you know? He’s been wanting to have sex every day since! I – I feel like a whore. I’m his first, Coran . . . he thinks I’m in love with him, because he doesn’t see why else I’d have sex with him. I haven’t come once, but he keeps trying . . . keeps touching me and sucking me . . .’_

_‘It’s not like you to be unable to come.’ Coran tried to smile and failed. ‘I know you usually come at least two or three times during each time we make love. It’s always more of a challenge to get you to stop. You’re – well – passionate. I love you for it.’_

_‘Yeah, but it’s like this – this – this mental block! I keep thinking how it’s_ him _touching me and_ him _holding me and I always wilt and lose my erection, or I just stay hard and nothing comes out, and I have to make excuses or tell him how it’s not him. I’m – I’m just using him so we can stay together, Coran. I’m using him and I’m cheating on you, and it just makes me feel dirty and used and then I think about our child . . . our baby.’_

_Coran winced and gently eased into the bathtub. He relished in the sensation of hot waters upon his skin, warming him to the bone and purifying him from the past week, and he raised his hands outward to guide Lance in beside him. Lance slid between his legs, where he leaned back against Coran’s chest. It was intimate. Coran could use their position to take a washcloth and wipe at his lover’s skin, cleaning Lance rather than allowing Lance to clean himself, and it was for the best. Last time, Lance scrubbed his skin red raw._

_The trickle of water and occasional splashes provided a comforting soundtrack, while Lance hummed aimlessly to himself with occasional sniffles of regret. There was a burst of steam that clouded their vision, while the hot waters soothed their souls, and it was easy to fall lost in the moment and forget their sorrows. Coran prayed Lance would forgive him for his idea, which left him in the arms of Keith. He whispered into his lover’s ear:_

_‘Do you remember Thace?’_

_Lance slid further down into the waters, until he was only visible above his nose. Coran smiled and used his hands to ease the head back and washed at his hair, using the bar of soap to form a lather, and – knowing how Lance would complain the next day that his hair wasn’t the right texture – made a mental note to use some conditioner to provide some moisture to the brown locks. Lance moaned in pleasure as Coran massaged his scalp._

_‘My father-in-law,’ said Lance. ‘How could I forget?’_

_‘Well, most people only know him as Keith’s other father,’ said Coran. ‘Rumour has it – however – that he had an affair with a creature from a place called “Earth”, resulting in a pregnancy he hid as being that of the emperor. Lotor and Shiro may be full siblings, but Keith is – and always will be – the half-sibling with no claim to the throne.’_

_‘Okay, so how did you find this out? Are – Are you saying we can use this to annul the marriage, because Keith isn’t Emperor Zarkon’s son? I – I’m not sure I could do that to him, not after I’ve already slept with him with him thinking I love him. It’d be too cruel.’_

_‘No, that’s not what I’m suggesting. We can’t ruin his life.’_

_‘What then? What’s the point in telling me?’_

_Coran drew in a deep breath. He rinsed out the last of the soap from Lance’s hair, before he pulled his prince upright and placed a kiss to his lips. There was a taste of honey and cinnamon, sweet and undeniably from a late-night snack, and he knew then – without a doubt – that Keith had never claimed this mouth. No matter what, they would always be able to share a kiss knowing no other had shared in that delight. Coran pulled back to whisper:_

_‘Thace sympathises with us.’_

_There was a jostle of movement from Lance, who pulled back with wide eyes. He was flushed from the heat of the bath and jolt of emotion, and Coran – as he pressed a hand to the smooth torso, thumb tracing a pattern on perfect flesh – felt that heart beneath his hand race to a worrisome degree. Lance smiled, lips twitching just slightly, before he sat astride Coran and wrapped his arms around his lover’s neck. A great deal of water trickled onto the white tiles below, while Lance placed a stream of kisses upon Coran’s cheeks._

_‘He’s your friend?’_

_‘Yes, we know each other well,’ admitted Coran. ‘I – er – may have kept our friendship secret, as your sister has never exactly kept her animosity to the Galra subtle, but times change and her opinions have changed, too. We spent more time together and I trust him. He wants to help us, Lance. He can get us off-planet, without your father knowing . . . we could leave tonight during the guards shift change, no one would know until the morning.’_

_‘You mean when Keith wakes up and comes looking for me?’ Lance gave a weak smile. ‘I can write him a letter, explain why I’ve gone, but what if they come looking for us? Where would we go? What would we even do out there? I – I’m scared, Coran.’_

_‘Have you heard of the Blade of Marmora? The Voltron Alliance? Thace believes the two groups have combined, seeking to overthrow the Galra Empire. Altea wouldn’t be forced to obey the Galra or appease them, as we’d finally be free! They have a secret base, so well hidden that no one would ever discover them. We can hide there.’_

_‘Then re-emerge when it’s safe to come out?’_

_Coran nodded. Lance laughed loudly and buried his face into his lover’s neck, where they existed together in a perfect moment, and knew that finally there was a chance to be together. It was fraught with risks, but the chance alone was better than the certainty of forever being apart and yet just in each other’s reach, so close and yet so far. Coran ran his hands over the prince’s body, desperate to remember every detail and every aspect, but he paused on hearing a small gasp of pain when he kneaded at the buttocks. He pulled back to mutter:_

_‘It’s not ideal, but we could be together.’_

_Lance shook his head and stood upright. Coran almost became aroused at the sight, as an ample member hung between his legs soaked with water, and the small thatch of pubic hair sat as a tempting sign to the organ it surrounded. It amazed him every single time how confident Lance was with his body, with never an ounce of self-doubt, and – more amazing yet – was the hope that shone through the trauma in his eyes. Lance commanded:_

_‘Let’s go now.’_

_* * *_

‘Keith, I’m so sorry,

I wish I knew what to say, but the truth is that I don’t think there are any words.

I know you won’t ever forgive me. How could you? I never loved you, but I did grow to respect you and see you as a friend, and I just wish that I’d left sooner. Not because you were a bad guy, but just because then it wouldn’t hurt so much. It wouldn’t be as bad.

I’m in love with Coran. The truth is that we’re expecting our first child, and as much as I wanted to pretend it was yours . . . I just couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t.

I’ve left to start a family. I hope one day you will be happy.

Sorry for everything. I’m so sorry.

Truly, Lance’

* * *

Keith clenched at the letter.

It crinkled and tore in his two fists. Shiro could see how his brother half-closed his eyes, something between a squint and a glare, as he blinked rapidly to fight away oncoming tears from falling in the royal gardens where anyone could see them. The breeze blew through and crackled the paper with each movement, while Keith’s fur rustled in turn, and yet he showed no sign of acknowledgement of the cold weather. He continued to stare at the letter.

Shiro stepped towards his brother; a hand came to rest upon a shoulder, which he squeezed to comfort the younger man, and – as he looked sadly down at the elegant handwriting – he felt a stab of sadness borne from sheer empathy. The paper was scented with Lance’s cologne. It was found upon the pillow next to Keith, enclosed in an enveloped that came complete with the royal seal, and on top sat the wedding ring given to Lance by Keith. Shiro wondered what happened to that piece of jewellery, but he suspected it lay deep within the pond.

The silence between them lingered. There was chaos in the palace; guards ran to and fro, while the royal advisors and servants gossiped in all corners, and – from where they stood – Shiro saw his brother’s room being upturned and searched. The noise was unbearable, a mixture of sounds at odds with Keith’s strange quiet. Shiro made to speak. He opened his mouth and closed it once again, only to see a tear roll down Keith’s cheek onto the letter.

“I’m so sorry, Keith,” he whispered.

Keith said nothing. The tearstain on the page grew, until it disturbed the ink, and soon long fingers ripped up the paper into dozens of shreds. Shiro wanted to object, but he knew it would be the only closure gained from such a betrayal, and – as Keith lifted his hands – the dozens of small scraps caught in the wind and scattered about the garden, each one a small memento of what could have been and what never would become.

“I’m so sorry . . .”


End file.
